


Ratatouille 2: Bigfoot Fights Back

by InterstellarToaster, Maesonry



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Crack, Cutesy, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Ghost Hunters, Good Parent Reader (Kinda), Humor, M/M, NTB: Never Trust Bigfoot, POV Second Person, Parenthood, Professor membrane voice: Ghosts killed my husband, Reader-Insert, Vaseline Covered GHOST DIMENSION, Written at 1AM Babey, cryptid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 15:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20428301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterstellarToaster/pseuds/InterstellarToaster, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maesonry/pseuds/Maesonry
Summary: You’re stuck in a ghost dimension that you’re vaguely sure is 90% Vaseline. Good thing you’re indestructible. Next stop: finding your husband again.





	Ratatouille 2: Bigfoot Fights Back

**Author's Note:**

> Watched the movie. Had some feelings. Wrote this at 1am. Enjoy.

Being dead sucked. Or, at least, you assumed you were dead. As you floated through the mysterious space of whoever you were- which, mind, was oddly sticky- you managed to sigh. Considering that you didn’t have the ability to actually sigh, you made a pretty good effort.

You wondered how your husband was doing. Actually, for the past however long you’d been stuck here, you’d been wondering that. Hoping that he was okay; you both did just have two children, after all. Not even five days old, and you’d left them to go ghost hunting.

Which was a pretty standard thing for you, except that you hadn’t come back.

Another deeeep inhale and then exhale, all metaphorical, as you continued to float through the ocean of slightly wet and oddly sticky darkness. Actually, after long enough here in this death soup, you’d started to think it might have been Vaseline. Deeply considering it might have been Vaseline. Very liquidity Vaseline- expired Vaseline? What even was Vaseline, anyway? No one knew. Another modern scientific mystery. 

Well, no. Membrane would have known. But considering that you were currently floating in what you assumed was a different dimension, or possibly in a coma, he wouldn’t be able to answer you anytime soon.

Or ever.

Aaaand now you were sad. You flailed your arms around in righteous disgruntlement, and almost didn’t notice the feeling of impacting something. It kind of hurt. You recoiled and then spent a hot minute spinning in a circle in nothingness, and then, once you’d finally slowed, you grabbed whatever you’d just slapped, and slapped it again. While holding it so you didn’t spin. For the many, many (many many many) years you’d assumed you were here for, you’d never once slapped something. Not to say that you hadn’t tried before- especially when you’d cursed the Bigfoot (Bigfeet?) that had gotten you in here, but this was a first. So you held fast onto whatever you had slapped in the darkness, and began to study in.

It was definitely solid. Which confirmed that you were solid. Which, confirmed that maybe you weren’t actually as dead as you had believed. You tapped the object, then shook it, and nodded as you realized it was a box. The texture said ‘Vaseline covered cardboard’. Your heart said ‘gross’. Still, a box was a box, and any object was helpful when you had approximately none. You shook the box again, and then made a sufficiently happy strangled burble when a flap opened. Truly, a success. For the first time in forever, you felt hope; as opposed to that oddly queasy feeling of being submerged entirely in expired Vaseline. 

Lacking anything else to do, you stuck your hand into the now open box. And- even more shocking than before- you felt something new. Something not Vaseline. Something... dry. Dry wet. No, wait, your arm was just wet. The space around it was suddenly dry. And not cardboard! You flailed that arm around more, made surprised noises when you didn’t hit any other spaces, and quickly came to a few very scientific conclusions:

1\. The box was connected to whatever weird spirit world you were stuck in.

2\. The box was dry.

3\. You would die for this box.

4\. Time to stick your entire head into the box.

What? After having been here for so long, the realization that even some part of you could be Vaseline free was a godsend. You didn’t even care about the possible consequences- you were an explorer! An innovator! That was why you’d hunted those ghosts and crytids to begin with! And- okay maybe that got you into this situation to begin with, but you couldn’t crack a few eggs without making an omelette! Or something. Innovation! Reckless adventure! No Vaseline! You made a battle cry that was suffocated by the space, and then, stuck your head into the box.

And blinked.

And _breathed_.

“I...” you inhaled, “I’m breathing?...” and you did it a few more time to confirm that, yes. Yes, you were breathing. When had you last really breathed? Ages. Possibly centuries. You really hoped it wasn’t centuries. But- back to the point! You inhaled and exhaled, then quietly became aware of the fact that you were in a room. Your head was in the room, rather. And because you were in contact with air, you were wet and oily and, well, that confirmed the age old question of yes, whatever ghost dimension you’d been stuck in, it was definitely Vaseline. Ghost Vaseline. But only your head was out now, and however uncomfortable it would be, you knew that you had to get the rest of you out. You _had_ to. Because if you got out- if you got out, you could finally see...

“My husband!” your strangled battle cry. You could finally see him! Vaseline be damned- and you could see your children again! Oh, how much they would’ve grown! You shifted and then yanked one arm free, slapping it onto the concrete ground of the garage(?) floor. With another heave, you nearly dislocated your shoulder, then extracted the other one. By now, you looked like some kind of horrifying mythological box monster, only half your torso out, covered with rapidly cooling Vaseline. Still, you persisted. You roared with a beastial cry, if a beast made a cry like an average human person covered in weird cold goo. Your hands dug into the ground to find purchase, stuck between that strange sensation of weightlessness in your lower half warring with gravity in the front.

Inch by grueling inch, you pulled yourself out. And out. When you finally managed to extract your foot, you kicked the box far across the room, promptly curled in on yourself, and shivered while making a frankly horrifying face. Cold, Vaseline, and also, covered in dirt. Whoever owned this garage should really sweep it up sometime. In fact, it looked like it could use a good cleaning in general. There was a ton of junk in here. Alien related junk, it looked like. HA! All the real cryptid hunters knew that aliens weren’t real. There were also some other interesting objects around- no, focus! Find your husband! Stand up first actually.

“Annnd... up we go,” you grunted, “Okay- okay, woah, alright. Oof. I’m gettin’ old.”

Gravity: conquered. Next stop: _the door_.

“Door. Do you know who I am?” you growled with a shaky but determined stance, “World renowned cryptid hunter. Ghost finder. Bigfoot deceiver!” you stalked closer, “Winner of every Hottest Cryptid Hunter in the three top magazines for ten years in a row- Payne Myth and Monsters doesn’t count. And you! Will! Open!”

And the door opened.

And there was a man on the other side of the door. He let go of the doorknob with an expression of surprised shock. Or, at least, as surprised as half a visible face with goggles could look. You looked surprised right back. 

So you said the first thing you could think of.  
“Wow, honey. Is it just the Vaseline obscuring my vision, or did you get hotter?”

And then you promptly pitched forward and fell to the ground. All according to plan.


End file.
